Need Suggestions for Title!
by KASEYSOSPACEY
Summary: Comingofage fairy tale like heroes journey sort of story. About a prince who is escaping his wicked stepmother and trying to fulfill a quest given unto him by his father. Not as cliche as it sounds, I hope.


Krystalyn Crowell

Thanks for reading- this is a story that I wrote and am in the process of illustrating. I seem unable to think of a fittign title, so any suggestions would be greatly appreciated! Thanks!

Untitled

Once there was a great King, a ruler who held power over a vast land, full of trees and houses and stables in which the Royal horses were to be kept. The countryside was constantly abuzz with activity, and there was a place for all in the community. Year round the sun shone upon the fields, and peasants harvested happily for their ruler, who in exchange provided food, shelter and protection for them and their families. Knights were to be seen riding their mighty steeds through the Kingdom, searching for a worthwhile Quest, and some said they had seen a faerie or two darting about the lush green forests surrounding each of the modest villages located around the great castle.

The land was a happy one, and the hot afternoons and warm evenings passed by with such ease and peacefulness that there was not a worry that there could ever be an interruption to their blissful existences.

The Kingdom was also ruled by a lovely Queen, who cared deeply about the happiness of her subjects and worked always to better improve the quality of their lives. The Queen blessed the Kingdom with two sons, and soon expected to bring a third. When the time came, the Queen brought a small, weak son to Earth as she unexpectedly left it.

A dark cloud fell over the Kingdom. The King refused to see the son, who was sickly and confined to the nursery. There were no visitors allowed into the Castle, until a black carriage passed solemnly through the town en route to the King, bringing behind it the worst rainstorms the area had ever known.

A week passed. The carriage remained at the castle, though no one had really seen the people that had come with it. A kitchen boy claimed to have seen a lady, clad in the darkest velvet he had ever seen, enter the castle from the mysterious carriage, but as a child he was given little credibility.

On the eighth day after the arrival of the mysterious coach and its equally mysterious passengers, an announcement was released from the King. He was going to present himself to the people, along with his new bride.

The people were very surprised that their King was to remarry so soon after the death of his wife, and while his newborn son was at death's very door. There was no announcement as of when or where, and the people were forced to wait until further information was released.

Another week passed, and the announcement was almost forgotten with the frenzy of preparation for the coming harvest. Suddenly, as the darkness of dusk was beginning to flit across the land, the great palace doors opened and out stepped the King and his before unseen bride, both covered from neck to toe in the blackest cloth anyone had ever seen. The color seemed to be drained from both of their faces, and even the King's bright red hair had turned ashen and dull.

The wedding then took place, and as soon as the bride became a Queen she took control, turning the peasants from contented townsfolk almost into farm slaves. Frolicking in the fields was replaced with toiling in them, and the youngest of children, barely able to walk, were put to use carrying water and small tools to the older townspeople working in the rain, which had been pouring strongly and steadily since the advent of the new bride of the once great King.

Years passed by, and little changed. The three sons grew, the youngest more slowly than the others. He was named Lazarus by the new Queen and she told him often that she had earned the right to name him because it had been her healing abilities that had brought him from the brink of death. She favored him over his brothers, as he was the youngest and had no prejudices against her as the others had. The brothers remembered the sweet, loving woman that had once cared for them, and hated not only their new parent, but their brother for stealing their mother away from them.

They also hated their brothers' femininity, his long soft hair, tilted eyes of the bluest tint, the grace in which he walked and carried himself, even with the heaviest of cloaks bearing down upon his back. They hated his height, the way he towered over all of the others, though he was at the same time small and unimposing. They hated that, in all of his lack of masculinity, he could still defeat them in all sports, though he took no pleasure in them. Lazarus seemed to adore the new Queen, and could see no fault in her. Day after day he spent with her, locked away in her chambers, speaking of his future. She wanted to arrange his marriage with a cousin of hers, and the King did not want to hear of it. He told her that his sons were too young yet to be married, but secretly wanted to save his children from the misery he could not escape. He did not understand it, but since around the time the Queen had entered his life, the King had not felt able to argue against her or her wishes. Resisting his youngest sons' planned marriage sapped his strength in a way he had been always unable to comprehend.

One day the Queen decided the time had come for the union to take place, against the Kings wishes. Her cousin, whom Lazarus had never met, was coming to visit and her mother was to approve the arrangement. Lazarus noticed how men were never mentioned, in the making of decisions or anything else in her family, but made no mention of it. The Queen had become irritable, anxious about the meeting, and the littlest confrontation could become a window-shaking argument in a matter of seconds.

The days trudged by, the peasants grew thinner, the King grew paler, and the two elder brothers became suspicious of the Queen. They had long suspected that the Queen dabbled in some sort of black magic, but had no proof. They decided to confront their brother about their suspicions, but were laughed off.

Finally, the day came for the cousin to come. At dusk, just as the Queen had arrived, a carriage appeared outside of the castle. The cousin emerged, her face and body hidden in folds of cloth and veils. Her mother and maidservant were in tow, the latter carrying the belongings of the others.

Lazarus had been awaiting her arrival eagerly, and appeared in their foyer as soon as he saw the carriage arrive. To his dismay, he was shooed off, not being allowed to see the woman who most likely would soon be his bride.

He spent hours imagining her, her face, her hair, he had seen not a sliver of skin in the moment he had seen the bundle of cloth exit the coach. He eventually dozed off, and began to experience fitful dreams. It was his bride, but when he moved the veil to kiss her, there was nothing beneath the sheet. He woke up at the end of the dream, and felt a strange sensation. It was as if someone, or something, had been urging him to awaken, but no one but himself was to be seen in the room.

He heard voices coming from the room next to his, spoken low enough to send a soft vibration. They conversed rapidly, and Lazarus quietly entered the hallway to see what was going on this late into the night. The door to the adjacent room was slightly ajar, and he peered in. Neither of the women inside were facing the door directly, and he was not seen. The Queen was in there, speaking to the mother of his bride-to-be.

There was something strange about the women, something Lazarus could not pinpoint. Their faces were longer, their noses bumped, more beaklike somehow. Their hair was greasy and falling in sections down their backs, loosened from the hefty styles usually worn by the proud, vain noblewomen. There were other changes, more subtle, that he noticed. Their skin seemed more yellow, their cheeks gaunt. Their voices more raspy and deep, as if their throats were sore after singing or talking in an unnaturally high-pitched tone.

He heard them speak. It was of his marriage, and he expected that they were planning normal wedding details, flowers and caked and dresses and the womanly things that one expects females to obsess about when a wedding is being arranged.

However, the discussion was grim. They were discussing the marriage as if it were a political arrangement, a way to unify the families even more so that they already were. To his surprise, heard it mentioned that they would send the newlyweds to live in their own small castle, giving them a part of the Kingdom to rule as their own. He had expected to stay in the castle, as was customary. He heard the conversation in segments, broken and sometimes unintelligible. He heard mention of a fire, the soon-to-be Princesses safety. The bride as ruler, or ruling with him? Of the land, asking the King for more of an area to rule to occupy her, eventually building an army, ruling the Kingdom.

"Army? Of what?" Lazarus asked himself. The women were beginning to stir, and he felt that being caught as he was he would be in for a worse fate than they had already planned. As he entered the sanctuary of his own chambers, locking the door, he asked himself many questions. "What was wrong with their faces? And what kind of army could she possibly have that would grow large enough to take over our Kingdom?

Lazarus was awake all night, trying to think of what to do. There had to be a way for him to get away from the castle, a way that the Queen would have no cause to resist. He could think of no plan, and had almost given up hope. Suddenly, just as dawn was cresting, it was as if he had heard a voice within his head. The voice whispered to him. "...the...King's...quest..." These three words came together in his mind, and suddenly he knew what he had to do to save his life, and possibly the life of his father as well.

In the morning, before the Queen rose from bed, the King always took a lonely walk across the moor, brooding about the life he had lived and lost. As he strode forwards, icy cold morning air filling his lungs, he heard the crunch of twigs behind him. It was at first faint, and it slowly grew in speed and in volume. He turned to see his son running, calling his name. The King waited, a knowing smile on his face, and his breathless son came to him. The King heard his story without much surprise.

"I have always known that she was controlling, but what was I to do? The King was resigned to his fate, never expecting to know happiness in his daily life again. "Did you think that I liked seeing my poor subjects tortured like they are? Do I need to store the massive amounts of food she makes them harvest? No. I had let them take it because they needed it, not I. There is nothing I can do. She had decided their fate as she decided mine. I do not know why she does what she does. There can be no undoing of her actions, no changing of her wishes. Since you were young I have felt that there was something different about her, something that I could never identify. If you think that she is evil, do what you must. Be sure that you are sure of what you are doing."

The Prince explained his plan to his father. The King agreed, there was no point in making his sons suffer as they had been, and there was a glimmer of hope for escape for all of them if the plan could only work.

That morning the King called all to court to make an announcement. He stood in front of all, including his wretched Queen, and announced his decision.

"One day I will need an heir" He bellowed "And there is no guarantee of a great ruler in putting the eldest in charge of a country. I will send my boys on a Quest, and he who is most satisfactory in completing the Quest will be your King when my time on Earth is ended. The King's Quest, as it was called in ancient times, will serve our Kingdom to determine its fate. A year and day will they have to prove themselves, starting on the morrow. I will announce their assignment when they leave."

He turned to sit, and saw the red face of his furious Queen. "I am sorry, my Queen, but there needs to be a test of some sort. Am I to choose Lazarus because he is your favorite?"

The night came, and the thunderous screaming was still to be heard from the Queen. She was angry that they were being sent out, as it would not only send Lazarus away from the castle, hence from the marriage, but send him away from her. She could not explain to the King why she so desperately needed the boy near her, but she insisted she needed him to at her command at all times. She did not want him to leave as he was, was all that she could say.

Though she came up with dozens of excuses, the King could not be persuaded to change his decision. He had already announced to the people of his country his intent, and would look weak to change his mind the next morning, especially if the reason for the change was the nagging frenzy of his wife.

With this insult, the Queen stormed out of the room, screaming either incoherently or in a very foreign language, Lazarus could not understand which. He was worried about the Quest his father was giving. He had no idea what it would be, and though he excelled at sports and riding horses, he had never left the confines of the Kingdom. Where to go, what people were like, his brothers would have a step ahead of him, as they had visited other Kingdoms to acquaint themselves with other Royal families and find prospective mates for themselves. Lazarus had never been allowed to go; the Queen had always said that she would find a proper girl for him to settle down with.

The prospect of the Quest the King had refused to tell him; it would give Lazarus an advantage over his brothers, which the King could not justify. He did not favor one son among the three, and at this point his main concern was keeping them safe as best he could.

Morning came, cold and frosty as had every day as far back as anyone but the old could remember. It had been over fifteen years since the sun had really shone upon the land, and ne'er a day without a chill crisping the air and aiding the coughs in the sickly people. The King addressed them, a sad look in his eyes when he viewed the state that his subjects had been dragged down to. He wished to help them, but the argument from the night before had left him almost too weak to walk, and he felt his strength sapping with every word.

"The man whom will rule this land will travel through the Gnarled Woods, to the land of the Thirteen Daughters. He will retrieve something there that will allow him to pass through the Blue Desert unharmed, and prevail against the Ogres guarding the one port to the Acid Sea. He will travel across the sea and find the Cloak of God, which he will return to here to wear on his coronation day. As there is only one cloak, there will be only one King.

The boys were outfitted with armor, gold and food to start their travels. There was enough gold to last them years, but there was only enough food for a couple of days, subtly urging the boys to spread far away, toward somewhere where they could obtain nourishment. They traveled alone, with their favorite horses as their only companions. They were given one last item; a small calendar, gilded cover, that had space to mark each of the days until the year and day were over and the new King was to be crowned.

The brothers rode together, in high spirits, until reached cleft in the road, with three smaller roads, unpaved, as options to travel. They separated then, wishing each other good luck. From each road, there was a trek onto a separate journey, and experience in entirety. Though their goals were not dissimilar, the brothers would not be the same when they met again, as each other or as they were.

The day was warm, the sky shone with a clear blue that he imagined in the eyes of the thirteen princesses. He had heard of them, they lived across a plain very far away, and were said to be the most beautiful maidens that had yet been born. Golden-haired and blue eyed he pictured them, visions of beauty in angelic white. As he daydreamed, he ambled somewhat off of the track into the Forest. He was so enveloped in his fantasies that he did not notice that he had wandered far away from the road indeed, into the deep, lush greenery that could so easily snare a horse, and wrap itself around the boot of ones' armor, pulling them quietly to their viridian doom.

He sensed something jerk, the horse lurched forward yet he was not thrown off. He looked downward, and saw how closely he had come to riding his horse into a deep trench, stagnant water filling the bottom, breeding mosquitoes and flies. He told himself that it was the horse's confusion not knowing the area well, but felt inside that it was more than just that. Perhaps someone did not want him to leave.

As he traveled, he noticed things changing. Slowly, the Gnarled Woods were less worthy of such a name, the sun was peeking through, if only a barely. Before much more improvement came, night fell and he stopped to make camp.

He unrolled his food pack, surveying the contents for the first time, meaning to eat the most perishable of the meager vittles he had been given to travel with. Meats, dried and smoked to a delicious chewy consistency, bread rolls, a little fruit and a large wedge of cheese. A fine meal, it would have been if it were meant to be for one night. It would last him for a few days, but he soon needed to find somewhere, a farm or a cottage with friendly inhabitants perhaps.

Lazarus chose to eat the cheese and some of the bread, thinking it would fill him for the night. The pear and a little more cheese would be a fine breakfast, though he would need to find a stream in the morning. He was thirsty already, but his weariness outweighed his thirst and he longed to sleep. He had never even been this far from home, and he was exhausted just from the stress of leaving.

Tired, he made a small camp, smoldering fire for heat and using one of the horse's packs as a pillow. He fell asleep instantly, his body was not accustomed to the pain of riding a horse all day.

That morning was a fine one, though colder than Lazarus was used to. Where he had grown up, there was a fire burning when he awoke, warm comforters upon his back and breakfast in front of him.

The horse began to whinny, asking for his own breakfast. Oats were poured, cheese was sliced, and water was found. Breakfasts were given to their respected owners and as soon as the last crumbs of the meal were eaten the camp was cleansed and they were off again, this time at a quicker pace than before. As the foliage grew sparser, and his view of the sky clearer, the Prince thought that he must be nearly through the forest, and he was hoping that there would be a town near the entrance. He was ultimately heading towards the land of the Thirteen Princesses, but wanted to make it only as far as the closest town by the end of this day or the next.

The forest ended in a large clearing, on the other side of which one could see the distant buildings of a small town. The horse rode as fast as it could, but night fell while they were a few miles away from the town. He could see that it was in fact a town, larger than he had expected initially but still rather small and likely under populated. He set his camp up, and ate a larger meal than he had allowed himself to eat in the last two days. Tomorrow he would be able to stock up on goods, and he ate most of what he had left, leaving only a few meat strips and a chunk of bread, which was becoming stale and he was not eager to eat anyway.

The night passed uneventfully, and as the morning sun woke him he felt as if something was wrong, though he could not see what. He mounted the horse, and sped off to the town. They arrived in an hour or two, and they entered the village, which was strangely without any guards to protect it from invaders. As he traveled the streets, he noticed it was oddly devoid of any life. There were no people in the streets. Every morning in his town, he saw peasants emptying chamber pots into the sewers, filling water jugs, setting out wares to sell. There was a hustle and bustle atmosphere that did not calm until the afternoon, when the men went to the fields.

That was how it had been before, as time had been going it seemed like there was less trading and more time on the fields. It had always been like that with him, but his brothers told him once it was a happy town, with dances and gaiety. There were celebrations, May Day poles and people loved their King and Queen. Lazarus often wondered about the Queen, his mother. What had she been like, would she have liked him? He glimpsed a painting of her once, put away in a storage room he was playing hide and seek in. She had been beautiful, the way he imagined the daughters looking. She looked nothing like the new Queen, the one who had raised him. As he traveled farther from home, he found himself liking her less and less.

The town was completely deserted. He dismounted and walked around, looking into windows for signs of life. There were fresh pies in the bakers', dishes mid-wash, pots still heating on their fireplaces, but no people.

His first thoughts went to the Queen. He had thought she was evil. But to empty a town of its people? Why? Was she so desperate to scare him back home? He could think of no other explanation. He helped himself to the contents of the grocer's store, knowing that there was no use letting the food within go to waste. He knew inside that the inhabitants had vanished, and he hoped that she would not bestow the same fate on the next village, which should be far enough away that she may feel the effort would be in vain. He filled the pouches of his horse, hoping that the food would last until the next town. There would be no village until he crossed the blue desert, a place which had lured many into its dreamy rippling heat.

He left the town shortly before sunset. He galloped away, his bags full of supplies, his stomach full of free food and his heart full of grief. As he sped, he heard the mumbling of the wind, and had he slowed he would have heard a soft murmuring, as of a large group of people returning from a celebration.

After days of traveling, his horse galloping as fast as it could bear to, the desert came into sight. It was vast; rippling a sapphire blue so beautiful and alive one expected a dolphin to emerge from the surface. Lazarus now understood why there were so many stories about people leaving the area of the Kingdom and never returning, it would be so easy to try to swim, and find oneself being sucked under, into the sand.

Weeks later, as he came to the desert, he noticed a cottage near the edge of the sand. He rode his horse to it, hoping to find shelter for the night. He had heard that deserts and surrounding areas were very cold at night, and he wanted nothing more than a warm bed to sleep in.

The cottage was lit he could see, and he could almost feel the warmth of a blanket on a soft bed. He saw that there was a fire, and dried meat in the window. He hoped there was a man there, someone who could give him advice about crossing the desert.

He entered, finding only an old woman under a tattered shawl. He turned to leave, hoping his presence hadn't been noticed. She turned her head in his direction.

"Who is there?" Her voice cracked and broke with each word. "Who is there?"

He could not leave without answering her. She was so small, so sad looking. He told her who he was, and what he was looking for. He waited politely for a reply, noticing that her cloudy eyes were focused on nothing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned to leave a second time. Again, she spoke to him, slowing him in his exit and journey.

"Would you lend an ear to an old blind woman?" She asked feebly.

The prince answered, not wanting to frighten her. He had learned to respect his elders, and his chivalrous nature would not allow him to refuse such a tired crone a moment of time.

"You said you were looking to cross the desert, did you not? You cannot cross as you are. Go along the deserts' edge, eastwards, and enter the Kingdom of the Thirteen Princesses. Meet them, and do as you will. Return here, with a grape from the dinner table for me. Then will you learn about crossing the desert."

He agreed, suddenly remembering his father's mention of the Thirteen Princesses. He had forgotten that they were located on this side of the desert, having had little knowledge of the world outside his Kingdom, and was grateful that the old woman had mentioned them. If not for her, he may have missed meeting them entirely.

He was given her blessing to sleep there that night, and he was given the bed he had been fantasizing about. Never had he realized that only a few weeks could change him so much, but his cracked hands and sore legs were proof of his journey.

Morning came quickly, and he made breakfast for himself and the old woman. He had real meat for the first time since he had left the comforts of home, and he felt pride in that he assembled it himself. After caring for the horse, he prepared to leave. As he mounted his horse, the woman called to him. "Remember the grape. Remember the grape." The sound of her voice faded as he headed for the Princesses.

Thirteen days of riding. Lazarus was thankful that his packs were full and he had knowledge of where to find water, but had almost given up hope of finding the Kingdom, or any civilization at all. It was not until late in the twelfth day that he had seen the houses in the distance, the palace faint, a dusty mirage a miles along the edge of the desert.

The city was a vision of beauty, and as he came to the crystal city in the afternoon of the thirteenth day he thought that he had found heaven. The buildings, the palace, all were of a glassy material that was opaque and transparent at the same time. The ethereal quality of the town almost convinced Lazarus of his own insanity

There were people as well, townspeople that filled the streets. They had the same quality about them, the false looking lack of humanity that confused him. In all of his sixteen years of life Lazarus had never seen anything like what he was seeing now. Stopping passers-by, he asked how he could see the King. Wordlessly, yet solemnly, the man pointed to a large gate, guarded yet open, that led to the main entrance of the castle. It was customary around the continent, he knew, for Kings to hold monthly meetings where commoners could ask the King what they would, and he would listen to their grievances. It was lucky for Lazarus, for it would be much easier to contact the King today than on any other.

When he approached the gates he was stopped, and his name asked. As a foreigner, he knew he would need to identify himself, and he removed his calendar, engraved with his name, from his bag. They gave him a letter that had been waiting. It was from his father. It said that the Queen had ordered that work be done on the castle, now that the granaries were full. Room upon room was added, old walls were fortified, and better ways of heating the building were used. They thought she was insane, before they toiled outside for hours, now no one worked the fields. When asked about her decision, her only answer was that the crops were not important anymore. It had been terribly hot; the rain hadn't come in a long time.

Lazarus was at first disturbed by this news, but refused to let it bother him. He was on a mission, and he needed to get a grape to learn how to cross the desert.

The King was expecting him, and knew already who he was. He asked Lazarus to dinner, which he accepted warily. It was strange that things were going so smoothly, the man did not know he had wanted to stay for dinner, and only knew of him that he was a prince. Lazarus thought there was something strange about the King, his willingness to allow others into his home so easily, his manner, which seemed falsely sweet and cunning. He had expected a man with so many beautiful daughters to be less receptive to young, uninvited male callers.

The servants showed Lazarus into a guest room, and he rested until supper. He hoped that they would serve grapes. There was no way that he could allow himself to disappoint the poor woman.

The meal was served early. There were many courses, each more delightful than the previous one, and he was tempted to eat it all. There was a roasted lamb, a pig, potatoes, every vegetable that he had ever known (as well as some he had never before seen) but no grapes. The King and he were dining alone, and they talked in a friendly manner, about weather, politics, crops and other topics that can spark conversations between strangers.

When the food was finished, and Lazarus felt that he would explode, a servant came in to announce dessert. The King stood; looking pleased, and announced to Lazarus that he would be meeting his lovely daughters. The servant entered with a large tray, and following him were thirteen of the most beautiful young women he had ever seen.

Each sat, and Lazarus stared at the beauty of them. They were almost identical, and looked nearly the same age. They looked almost as he had imagined them, blonde and blue-eyed, visions of perfection in the softest yellow dresses.

The platter was set and opened. Inside were fifteen small plates, carrying an airy lemon cake such as Lazarus had never seen. Even more surprising to him was the centerpiece around which each slice of cake was positioned; a golden bunch of grapes spilling over the edge of a large, jewel-encrusted wine goblet.

He ate, making conversation with the women. Dessert ended and as he put his plate onto the platter, he pulled on one of the golden grapes. It came off easily, and he slipped it into his pocket.

The Princesses asked him to go back with them, into their quarters to talk and visit with each other. Lazarus felt uncomfortable. He had been taught all of his life to be respectful with women, and was unsure how to react. He had never been alone with a girl, and knew that he probably shouldn't be. It was not proper, but the allure of the maidens was almost too much to refuse. He began to stand to follow, their father could not object as he had already left to ask a question of the cook. In his heart he felt what he was about to do was wrong, and he retreated to his room.

A few hours later, a stirring brought him out of his sleep. Someone was trying to get into his room, the door of which he had locked. He wrapped a robe around himself, and lit a small taper from the fire of a large wax candle that had been burning slowly on the only large piece of furniture in the room, a redwood bureau. The light flickered across the walls, and illuminated the carvings on the wood of his door, which he had not noticed before. Naiads and Dryads danced across the frame, a water god swirled around the brass knob. He was entranced, and was momentarily relieved of his current mission, which was to see who was trying to invade his room in the dead of the night.

He peered under the door, trying to see how many people were out there. Would it be a hairy foot, the giant phalanges covered in the strap of leather worn by barbaric warriors, or the heel of a butler's boot, trying to ask if he needed any refreshment?

He saw several golden-slippered feet, the tops of which were being skimmed by the gossamer whiteness of the princess' nightdresses. He opened the door warily, not wanting to seem too anxious at their visit. The last thing he wanted to do was give them a bad impression, he had hoped that after this quest was over, maybe he could take one of them as his bride. If they thought he was effeminate and weak, as his brothers had always taunted him, they would not like him.

"Hello, ladies." He said as he opened the door, trying to sound smooth and attractive. They all wore their hair in an identical fashion, swept up with a golden clip for bed. Their pale skin, Titian hair and gilt accessories made them look like a painting of angels in heaven. The enchanting ladies were clad in white, their nightgowns flowing into each other, a mass of loveliness. Lazarus was in awe. "Am I in heaven? He asked of no one.

They led him away from his door, and entranced by their beauty he let himself be led.

They brought him to a door, this one large and highly decorated. It was opened partially, and he could see lines of beds within. They asked him to enter.

"Come on…don't you want to be our friend?" They said, nearly in unison. He was enamored with each of the girls, and could not tell one from the other. He was close to accepting their offer. How could he resist? Just before he entered the room, his thoughts turned to the girl still waiting in his own Kingdom. He could not shame her or himself enough to have so much as a tryst, not until plans were finalized. He respected the honor of every woman, his fiancée and the thirteen princesses, even thought they seemed to care naught for their honor themselves.

He bolted. Slipping from their grasps, barely escaping their long nails digging into his skin, he ran back to his room. He locked the carved door, and dressed. He crawled down, out of his window, using a line of ivy to grasp. He mounted his horse, which had been fed and cared for in the Kings' stable.

He began the long ride back to the cabin, and rode harder than he had ever ridden. Dazed by the endless expanse of the unvarying landscape, he prayed for yet another comfortable night at the cottage. He had nearly run out of food when he saw the house, and he was glad to see the old woman again.

He entered with a hearty hello, as the woman would not instinctively know who he was. She smiled and began to speak to him.

"You came back." She seemed pleases and mildly surprised. "Did you get it? The object that would allow you to cross the blue desert?"

Lazarus answered in the affirmative. He gave her the grape, not knowing what she meant to do with it. It had been plucked many days ago, and would probably not be good for eating. She stood and left the cottage, a thing he had not seen her do. She laid the grape upon a flat rock, and turned to speak with him.

"This will provide you with one means of transportation, but it was not what you truly sought. You have proven that you have strong morals, of a good person and leader. You resisted the evil sisters, which was a strain on you. Had you gone with them, as others have before you, you would have been drugged and added to the King's army. You would no longer remember who you were; you would be a nameless drone. A bird is coming, the Phoenix. When it has turned its back to eat the grape, which is no ordinary grape at all, you must mount its back. It will flap and fight, but you must hold tightly. If you hold on, it will fly you across the desert. Your horse will be waiting; do not ask me how."

What the crone had said was true. A bird came, and it began to eat the fruit. He jumped on its back, and it swung back and forth, trying to throw the weight from its body. Lazarus held strong and would not let go. He dug his hands deep into the feathers of the bird, and after a few minutes it stopped its struggle and lifted from the ground. He was far above the desert, and could see the blue sands move back and forth. It truly looked like an ocean, and as he gazed at the wonder, he asked himself why it was there. What was the point of a giant forest, a blue desert, an acid sea?

Lazarus was troubled by these questions. He felt comfort in his Quest, as he was to retrieve the Cloak of the Gods. May it be that he could speak to God? What was in his future?

He lost track of time on his flight; he was in a trancelike state. He had been staring at the rhythmic rolling of the sands, like waves, far beneath him. He wondered how his brothers were doing. Had they made it to the princesses? No one had mentioned seeing them, and they may have been fated to fall for the princesses' evil seduction. He hoped that they were okay; he loved his brothers, even if they spent most of their time together beating him up and calling him names.

Eventually, the bird began its descent. He saw no land, and as he saw the sand coming towards him, he began to panic, convinced that the bird had gone insane and meant to drown the both of them in the dry waves of the mass below them. The bird did not slow as it dove, and as it was above the sand by only a foot, the thought that passed through Lazarus' mind was that the bird must be about to turn upward, that this was a test of courage of some sort. The bird hit the sand at full speed, going deep into the ever-more muddy depths of the badland.

Lazarus' mouth filled with sand. He had not expected to break the flesh of the barren wild, but they had sliced deep into the meat of the desert. They passed through the dry, arid layer of sand into soil that lay far beneath. Just as Lazarus thought he was going to suffocate, they broke into an empty area, a space with fresh air, which Lazarus inhaled gratefully. They were slowing now, and as they came down he saw that they were going to a city, a city he had never heard of, lying beneath the civilization under the sun.

He had not noticed them at first, but now, soaring lazily in circles over the city, Lazarus saw the buildings. They had a strange quality, one that he could not place. They landed, resting on the low roof of one of the buildings. Stepping, and consequently slipping, Lazarus placed a name on the oddness that he had noticed. The buildings were glass, clear and clean, free of dirt or dust. The streets were invisible, except for their sheen. Another glass city? Lazarus wondered if there was a connection.

Lazarus turned, and saw that the Phoenix had gone. When the crone had told him the Phoenix would take him across the Blue Desert, he had expected to stay aboveground, and he worried about his horse, and where he was supposed to go. He went over his fathers' speech in his head, and remembered. After the Blue desert, he was to do something to cross the Acid Sea.

"The Acid Sea, that must be the liquid that flows beneath these streets." Lazarus remembered the lessons he had learned as a child from a tutor his father had hired. Glass was the only thing that could withstand the power of acid. His lessons had come to mean something; he had never liked them and couldn't imagine using them in life.

He explored the streets, narrow and frictionless as they were, and found his horse, laden with supplies, new gilded shoes and a sword and hilt peeking from one of the pouches at its side.

He equipped the sword, having learned throughout his journey to expect surprises and take nothing at face value. Lovely girls had been evil vixens, old women saviors. He saw no one in the street, and wondered if this city was abandoned as the town outside the forest had been. Meandering through the streets, he heard noise; shouts and grunts echoing into the empty area.

Entering the building from which the sounds were coming from, he followed the grunts until they were as loud as a stadium. Opening the heavy doors in front of him, he saw that the description of stadium was appropriate. Around the edges of the room, the people of the city congregated. The center was empty, excepting for two beings. Entering further, Lazarus saw that they were no ordinary people. Living underground had changed them, if they had ever been people at all.

Their skins were pale, translucent and pearly. Gray-green in hue, bluish veins were visible beneath. Little hair to hide them, their long, pointed ears poked at an angle from their heads, matching the length of their claw-like fingers and toes, both of which were left bare.

At the center was a larger one of those people, twice as tall and at least that much as wide. He was fighting one of their smaller men, and winning, it seemed, with ease. Lazarus approached one of the hooting onlookers.

"What's going on? Why are they fighting?" Lazarus asked nonchalantly, trying to act as naturally in the crowd as he could. He felt uneasy about being underground

The spectator explained that the small fighter was battling for the right to leave. The larger one was an ogre, the guardian of the port. If the smaller man could somehow get the large ogre to step out of the circle they were fighting in, he would win. The ogre had never been beat as yet, and it didn't look as if he would be losing this time either.

A grunt exploded around the room as the ogre threw the man out of the circle, into the wall high above the heads of the crowd. The winner was pronounced, and the Ogre's name, Ogden, added to the register inscribed on the wall.

Lazarus meandered down the steps of the stadium. When he reached the bottom, bumped and bruised as he was, he was able to look at the register. The same name was repeated as high as Lazarus could see. Ogden, Ogden, Ogden. The inscriptions stretched to the ceiling. He wondered whether there were fights semi-daily, or whether Ogden was a very, very old man.

Fear began growing in his heart, a feeling regarding the fact that he was deep underground, and that he was trapped with these strange things, things he wasn't sure it would be appropriate to call people, who could be good or bad, welled. Suddenly, he felt at peace, as if he had been guided by something. It was not the first time that he had felt this, he felt it the night he awoke to hear his stepmother's whisperings, when his horse almost fell, throughout the entire journey. He knew what he had to do, and he knew that he could live with confidence.

He approached Ogden, and challenged him to a fight. He knew that he would accept Ogden would lose the respect of the people if he rejected a scrawny sixteen year old. The fight began, and Ogden jumped at him, grabbing at his arms. Lazarus had seen him fight; all he did was lunge at the opposer and throw him out. If Lazarus could only lure him towards the edge, Ogden would lose.

Ogden acted as Lazarus had predicted. He chased him simply around the ring, and before long Lazarus' plan had come into its own. He stood the nearest he dared to go to the edge of the boundary. Ogden jumped at him, and flew out of the circle. The scribe began to chip his name into the wall, as Lazarus was given a bag of gold to reward him for winning.

Lazarus felt proud, not of his victory in itself, but that he had won without violence. He had not hit, jumped at, or injured Ogden at all. The guard had destroyed himself, as bullies often do.

He walked away from the crowd, disgusted by the relish they took in the violence of these matches. He meant to leave, and as he walked toward the port he saw his horse, waiting once again prepared and unbidden.

A glass boat waited for him, and the horse and he fit perfectly inside. Once they sat, the boat took on a life of its own and they were off. It sped away from the under-desert city into the hissing darkness that connected the Acid Sea to the world above.

Lazarus thought back to the day that he let home for the first time. He had been everywhere his father had mentioned and it would soon be time to find the Cloak.

He rode his horse for weeks, aimlessly, wondering how he would find the Cloak. He knew not how long he had been in the valley, but the season had more than changed. Before, throughout his travels, there had always been a path, something that directed him. Now, there was a vast plain in front of him, seeming to lead nowhere. He thought of his stepmother, whom he had never like, though she had doted on him. He wondered again if his brothers were alive. He wanted to experience the world; he wanted to enjoy his life. Now, he had and she had protested it. The feeling he had had throughout his journey, that pulling that had pushed him to his journeys end, he felt it no longer. He doubted himself, his family. His accomplishments suddenly seemed trivial. When he felt as if he could go on no longer, as if he could only curl up and cry, he heard a sound.

A lamb was bleating behind him, alone in the pasture. Lazarus wondered how he could have missed the animal; he must have passed it in his wanderings. In all his sadness, he could not leave a baby, even one that was not human, alone to die. He bent down and fed it water, which was the last of the nourishment in his pack.

It drank hungrily, and it drank all. When the bladder of water was empty, the lamb stood, first on wobbling legs, then more strongly. It stood, lifting itself onto its hind legs, slowly standing upright. It grew as it stood and before long it was a large as a man. The white fleece fell off, turning golden on the light that was filling the valley. A man stood where the lamb had once been, and it spoke to him.

"Lazarus, you have been through more than others twice your age could imagine. The pain of losing an entire tribe of people at your sake, the tempting seduction of over a dozen lovely women, fighting an ogre. You have given up food to save a dying lamb; you have traveled miles to fetch fruit for an old woman. You wished luck, and worried for, your brothers, who were your rivals. You were controlled enough to stop yourself from being violent against another, though it would have been rightly so. You have lost home, strength, and have never lost faith. I have been with you, throughout the journey. I have felt your pain. Take the cloak, which will represent not your right to the Kingdom you seek but the growth you have found. That is why you deserve to be King. You have fallen, your hope has died and now you will be raised."

The light shone more brightly than ever it had before, and when it dimmed Lazarus found himself at the end of a dirt road. Looking up, he saw that it led to his home. He rode up, and saw his smiling brothers, along with his subjects and family.

Tears rolled down Lazarus' face as he came to his home, and he grasped his stepmothers' hand. After the adventures he had endured, he had no fear left, and asked her why she had done as she had.

"My son, whom I have always loved, I have never wronged you. That night, we were planning to change the system of our Kingdom; we wanted your Queen to rule beside you, as an equal. We did not look strange, have you ever seen a lady relieved of her bulky garments, her hair down and her face unmade? One cannot always look their best, dear Lazarus. We planned a bonfire, to celebrate your union and to purify the air; we wanted to represent the beginning of a new age. We wanted to build our army, not because we wanted to take over but to protect our own. The peasants thank me now for the work I made them do, when the heat wave ended, leaving our crops dead, a terrible storm came. Everything was washed away, and all were welcome to live in the castle, in the fortified rooms I had ordered to be built. My family has always had skill predicting the weather, and I knew of the coming storm. Had I explained myself, would I have been believed? No. So I let them think me a witch, but my love, you are my son. I would never want you to hate me. The King has always been suspicious, thinking me evil and that I am sapping his strength. He does not want to admit that he is seventy years old, and he cannot rule any longer. The crystal cities you saw were once one, and the evil that went on broke them apart, the good section staying above surface. Unfortunately, the King is so desperate to keep a large army to defend against the others, should they ever reappear, he has stooped to evil actions himself. We wanted to protect you, young as you are, from evil. I did not want you to leave because I wanted you to train here, I was afraid you would be lost in the storm as well."

"If that is true" Lazarus said "Why then was the village empty when I came out of the Forest?"

"Did you ever use the calendar that we gave you on the day you left?" The Queen asked "Look at the date."

Lazarus looked at the calendar, flipping back. The day he would have been at the village was May Day; they would have been celebrating in the woods until dusk. Lazarus felt ashamed that he had ever doubted, and apologized.

Soon after, Lazarus was coronated. His father realized that his sons were grown, and that he must let them take the responsibility of ruling the Kingdom. Soon after, Lazarus married Mary, the bride that his thoughts of had saved him from the evil Princesses. He was just and fair, allowing the peasants to harvest food for themselves in the fields, yet storing enough to save them in time of an emergency. His brothers married, and worked with him, as his counselors. He felt confident about his future, knowing that he would always feel guidance and safety as long as he upheld the lessons he had learned on his Quest.

23


End file.
